Seeking Solace in Smut & Smoke
by Uzzle Cue
Summary: A moment that never was, during a time that never happened. Shikamaru has a mostly reluctant and mostly unhelpful exchange with Sakura about the habits of grief.


"That's an awful habit," she said, more from habit than actual concern, Shikamaru thought. He inhaled slowly, chest filling with polluted air, before pulling the cigarette from his mouth, letting it burn between his fingers as he acknowledged her intrusion.

"I'll live." He peered at the girl, scanning her from pink head to green painted toe nails. He and Sakura had never talked much. They were from the same circles, but never seemed to interact. Which on one hand was a shame, because she possessed a clever mind, and somewhat fortunate on the other hand, because she was a woman. And the only thing Shikamaru had ever been able to puzzle out about women was that they were very, very bothersome.

"Not if you keep that up." She huffed, sitting down beside him, as if he'd invited her. So she had wandered over to him not out of concern, or out of a medic's habit, she wanted to _talk_. He had his suspicions about the topic she had in mind too. Shikamaru glanced around, looking for an easy exit. Something that wouldn't take too much effort. In the small stall, across the narrow street, Ino was screaming at Naruto still, for dumping a bowl of something all over her shirt. Sai, the mysteriously awkward artist, stood nearby, unsure expression on his flour white face. Chouji, predictably, was mourning the loss of whatever Naruto had dropped. No help would be found from that lot.

A new exhale of smoke lifted his sigh towards the awning that shielded them from the afternoon sun. He glanced to the girl beside him. It would be easier to deal with her than try to get the others involved. Maybe he could end this quickly if he forewent the small talk.

He reached out and, much to her surprise, snapped the latch on her hip pouch open, withdrawing a slim book before she could protest.

Her cheeks remained pale, but he noted the tips of her ears, protruding delicately from pink strands, turning red.

"Like you're one to talk about bad habits," he almost smiled.

Sakura snatched the green book back and clutched it to her chest, plastering it like a bandage over the raw wound in her heart that he had just torn open. Her next breath was a little stressed. He almost felt bad as she looked to him, moisture gathering at her lashes. The tears were not from embarrassment, but from that familiar pang of grief he himself was still accustomed to feeling every time he clicked the thumb-wheel of his inherited lighter against the flint .

"It's just..." her gaze trailed away towards the street, as if she might catch the sight of her teacher slinking by at any moment. She became very quiet and very still. Shikamaru could imagine her finishing that sentence: "_Its just - so I can remember him_." or "_It's just - in case he ever comes back._" or "_I just - don't want to forget. I don't want to let him go. I can't let him go._"

In the stall, Ino began strangling Naruto and shaking him as if she hoped to pull his head off like a cork.

Shikamaru almost swore. He had never been adept at being comforting to people. He cursed Sakura Haruno in his mind. She shouldn't have thought he could help her, just because their situations were somewhat similar. He cursed Naruto too, who wasn't helping her in the least.

They all knew the last Hatake was gone, but the lack of a body at his battle scene was all Naruto needed to pretend. Naruto wouldn't ever let go of his affirmations that the infamous Copy-nin was still out there somewhere, Shikamaru suspected. Sakura though, as hopeful a person as she was, had a shrewd core of logic in her soul and a sharp sense of intuition that knew, just as well as everyone else knew, that Kakashi wasn't suddenly going to spring up from the ground and apologize for being late. As nice as that fantasy seemed.

"It gets easier," he said, finally, feeling surprisingly idiotic for one of the most intelligent people in the world.

"Does it?" Sakura had brought the book down onto her lap and she was absentmindedly brushing her fingertips over the title, skimming across the words Icha Icha as if it was holy text, with a reverence only surpassed by the book's previous owner.

He inhaled the last of his cigarette and stubbed it out on the side of the bench, "That's what people kept telling me."

She looked at him with something like pity or sympathy, or maybe just understanding. Which was stupid, he thought. He had lived without his teacher for nearly a whole year now. Her loss was fresher. Honestly, she should be the one getting pitying looks from him.

_Women._

"Did it-" she swallowed, "does it? Get easier, I mean?" she was almost whispering.

He couldn't talk to her, he realized, it wasn't in him to have a heart to heart with anyone much less this girl he hardly knew. Anything he said, either way, wouldn't heal her, just like no one had really been able to heal him. Nothing but smoking till his lungs ached had comforted that injury in his soul. He wondered idly if Sakura would begin wandering the village with her nose behind age inappropriate smut.

It was mind boggling, both being the respective brains of their first teams, they hadn't been smart enough to not let their teachers pass down their very worst habits.

"Let's go in. You're looking a little thin, you should eat," he said, as casually and distantly observant as he could be.

Sakura pressed her lips together in what might pass for a smile in an austere culture. She didn't seem angry at his deviation from the topic at hand. She simply closed her eyes for a moment and clutched the book a little tighter in her hands. Finally, after a moment of silence, she loosened her grip and looked over to him, eyes still damp, grief still fresh, mouth still molded into a grimace disguised as a smile.

"Yeah, let's go. You're looking thin still too," she said, eyeing him with the disappointed eyes only someone in the medical profession and mothers could pull off. She rocked forward to stand up, reaching down to gently nudge his shoulder with her knuckles, as if to use him for balance as she rose. They both knew that she didn't need him for balance though. Shikamaru was pretty sure she was thanking him, for whatever solace she had managed to squeeze from their little conversation. Or maybe he was just over-thinking that soft touch.

She walked away from him, putting the book back into her pouch as she went, already starting to shout at Naruto to calm down, despite the fact that it was Ino who was shaking him about.

Shikamaru watched the pink haired girl for a long moment before he tossed the crumpled butt of his finished cigarette into the gutter and went to join her.

...-_-...

_So, first posted story, a sort of 'time that never was' kind of moment between two acquaintances. I guess I just thought that if Kakashi ever bought the farm Sakura would end up mourning him by carrying around his porn as memento. Weird, but sweet. Why is she talking to Shikamaru about this...? I think it has to do with that whole unloading onto strangers line of thought, and in this case they sort of have a little in common. If that makes any sense._

_Well..._

_Later Taters_


End file.
